The Black Star
by Vivian L. Rathburn
Summary: 'What is better- to be born good, or to overcome your evil with great effort.' The Divines will ensure that there is a Dragonborn when the need arises, but the fates are known to be beyond accurate prediction. Follows a (Fem/Vamp) Dragonborn, pairings undetermined.
1. Prologue

_A/N: I do not have any rights to the Elder Scrolls series or their characters. I only use the innovative setting as a writing device. Previously published under the same name with another username. Please enjoy, and reviews are always welcome. _

Prologue- 4E 158, 6th of Morning Star

The Will of the Divine

Bleak and cutting thought the cold of Skyrim often was, the icy winds that had slipped in with the new year were ones that cut all but the heartiest Nords down to their bones. And Son of Skyrim he may have been, but four days of fighting a blizzard to make it to Rorikstead had Anthin Skystone drowning out raw winds of the blizzard raging with as much mead as the Frostfruit Inn could bear to part with.

He and his small retinue had arrived at the little settlement much as a thirsty man arrives to a desert, and once they had sealed themselves inside they had little want for the outside. No stranger to his mens opinion of the trip, he had arranged for them to stay at least two nights. He prayed it would be enough time for the foul storm to blow over, cursing the timing of the New Life festival and his need back home.

Anthin, having drank his fill and sufficiently warmed himself, contented himself with watching his men gamble and attempt to catch the eyes of the two women present. However, he had to amend, there seemed to be two other women present, they just had not caught the eye of his men yet. One of them was the innkeeper's wife, heavy with child and fussing with another little one on occasion. He hoped that they had the sense not to try and catch her eye.

But the other woman was robed, quiet and tucked in one of the shadier corners of the common hall. When the bardess came by to fill his drink again, he slipped her a septim and asked after her. Mostly driven by an innate frustration that in his last few minutes of watching the room, she had not looked up, nor around, once.

The bard smiled at him, her eyes imagining scandal where there was none, replying, "She's been in with the blizzard, much as you have. But she seems to be waiting on something. Rorrin and Erika don't seem to mind, they've been paid through the week, but I know if a courier comes through they're to be pointed her way."

Anthin sensed that if he had the coin she would be happy to divulge more, but he also knew what he needed to and was uninterested in the trivial. When he nodded her away she seemed disappointed, but wound up directing it toward the youth of the Inn as he got underfoot, the name 'Mralki!' followed with a litter of curses.

After a moments hesitation, and another survey of both his men and the room, Anthin stood up and made his way to the table of the mystery woman. To her credit, even though she had not looked up from the book in front of her for several minutes, she did snap to attention when it became clear he was making his way toward her. He smiled as genuinely as possible, but found that it was not an easy thing to conjure up after a week of forced pleasantries with politicians.

Eyeing him over, she did not smile back, though he saw no hostility in her demeanor. But what came out of her not only surprised him, but robbed him of the words he had prepared.

"I've no time for lords and the like. I've felt your eyes on me for a while. If you're going to try and bed me I think you'd need a rather convincing argument with the fates weighted against you now."

He stalled for a full minute, and then saw a smile pull at the edges of her lips, "I'm Isbeil . Are you only good for stareing or do you actually have an argument? I thought lords we supposed to be well spoken. Even if they are Nords."

She loosed her hood, and he could see now that she had the smaller, warmer features of a Breton, which explained the slight lilt of the coasts of High Rock. Smoothing himself back into a casual demeanor, he attempted at a less plaster smile and found that his humor was genuine. It was rare any woman gave such blunt approach. Trapped in a blizzard what more could be expected of the men in close quarters?

Rather than over-thinking, and mincing, his words, Anthin took the seat across from her and let the warmth from the mead drown out his tendency for reasoning. "As you are quick to pin my intent, then I have to disprove you. Are you much of a betting woman?"

* * *

_Saints and seducers, he was good looking_. That was about the only thought that Isbeil had managed coherently before scrambling for a witty retort. It had been half assed, but she had managed to get something out to throw him off kilter. She put forth a strong mental effort to avoid seeming interested, and she hoped it was working. She wasn't sure she could afford to swoon.

He wasn't a simple man though, and he seemed to have a curious side. _Divines help me, I found a damned curious Nord._ She tried, rather desperately, to seem uninterested. It wasn't all that hard given that she was too busy trying to figure out how a Nord, of all the races and people in Tamriel, could be so damningly pretty. And then he mentioned Karthwasten.

She blinked and tried to cover her shock, "What about Karthwasten?"

Anthin looked her over, meeting her eyes, and quite possibly seeing the suspicion she housed, replied calmly, "If I had known that me and my men would have been hit with the brunt of the storm, I would have made my way through the mountains. It's likely that Karthwasten would've made for an easier journey, if slightly longer."

Isbeil relaxed instantly, and she smiled at him genuinely again, "Ah, but you don't know that for sure. The Divines sent you by Rorikstead for a reason, I'm certain." _Not being caught in a siege, namely_, she thought to herself.

He blinked, half surprised and half pleased, "A devout Breton? Have my ears deceived me?"

That Isbeil laughed at. "My mother was a priestess, good sir. I'll not have you doubt my devotions. I was dedicated to Mara when I was but a babe in swaddling clothes. "

Anthin joined her laugh, and it smoothed out his features from the concerned pull that seemed to pull at them. His voice, tinged only slightly with the Nordic accent, was warmer now, "I meant no disrespect. I suppose the mead has muddled my ability to speak properly to a beauty like yourself."

Isbeil felt herself color, her inner thoughts scolding her for acting like a schoolgirl for a Nord with a pretty face that she hardly knew. But he spoke again before she could brush off the compliment and regain her indifference. "How, though, did you know I was a lord?"

"Well, the three men you've with you have followed everything you've said to a point. That makes you a leader of some sort. You've the coin and respect to ride into town unfettered, which rules out any banditry. And you're polished in the way only a noble or his kin would be. That means either you are, or your father is, so I erred toward flattery."

He nodded in approval of her observation, seeming to mull over adding something, and so she amended with, "And you've a kind face, or I wouldn't have said anything at all."

Anthin looked surprised again, and he colored a bit in the way only youthful men could. They both seemed to take a moment to appraise one another, and must've come to a similar conclusion as they each broke into a reflective odd smile. The cold had faded into a minor irritation in the back of Isbeil's mind, and she realized that she could no longer feign disinterest. The chances of Madanach's missive arriving that night were looking increasingly slim regardless.

She closed her book, which brought a tone of finality to the conversation, as though now it was clear neither of them could step away. Their own gravitation had brought both of them this far, and now it was damning them to see it through. Isbeil smiled, and suggested, "Another round? Maybe you can make your argument more persuasive, while making my evening all the more fun."

The smile that lit up his features was positively devilish, and she was almost certain her heart skipped pace. He waved the bardess over, and as she watched him in the dancing firelight, she thought to herself, _Mara help me I've found my match in a Nord. And one I've barely met. Maker help me._

* * *

Anthin found that Isbeil unraveled his expectations of his stay in Rorikstead without remorse, and as the evening drew on, he ignored more and more knowing glances from his men. They busied themselves competing for the attention of the bardess, whose name had already left him, and he felt no sympathy for the wanting looks the Nord woman sent his way. Isbeil had capture his attention with her direct nature and overwhelming aura.

They carried on conversing until both of them slurred, voices heavy with mead. She knew of his past, and he had even regaled her with his likely boring future. In turn he knew of her family, and pursuits of spellcraft. He mourned briefly with that knowledge, for it sealed off any and all chances of marrying her, however slim they were. She was not only lacking in noble or Nord blood, but also inclined toward the arcane. His family would have a field day with him for even carrying on at that point. But carry on he did, and relished in every word between them, knowing their connection could only last through the blizzard.

Around them the inn grew quiet as its few patrons moved to their respective beds, and the shadows deepened as the innkeeper let the fire die down. Anthin noted that they were left to themselves once the last of his men, the captain of his guard, slinked off with a rather tired looking bardess. The fire slowly dimmed down around them, and Isbeil looked around in surprise to find none accompanying them in the hall save a sleepy looking mastiff.

She chuckled, yawning with the twilight hour that it was, and looked him over. Anthin realized their proximity, for they had moved closer as the night had drawn on, and stood to make his excuses and then his way to bed. Isbeil caught him before he could speak though, and kissed him with a passion he had not seen in her demeanor. Fire and passion coursed through him instantly, and for once he allowed himself to be taken by the moment.

They kissed as no strangers ought kiss, and as she broke away with a smile, Isbeil whispered to him urgently, "I am not a fool. This cannot go beyond your stay, you and I both know it. I am not a child to fool myself with such notions, but I also cannot ignore this feeling about me."

Kissing him again, she broke away once more to continue, "I only ask that you not see me as a conquest, and I can show you that a dedication of Mara may occasionally be blessed by Dibella."

Anthin felt himself swoon over the woman before him, and for the first time in his life he cursed the circumstances of his birth. His heart had tripled its beating in the last minute alone, and she was doing dangerous things to his state of mind. He could only kiss her in response.

Isbeil called out the Divines with little hesitation, but as a devout himself, he felt with a certainty that their machinations were at work.A week later, news of the attack in the night on the small hamlet of Karthwasten would remove any and all doubt from his mind.

Isbeil herself knew the designs of fate were at work. It was not until later in life that she would begin her walk with the sight, but for that night she knew better than to question their will. It felt too right to ignore. The weeks to come would reveal to her the greater purpose of her evening affair, as she came to realize that she was with child. And for the first time in her life, she was grateful for the circumstances of her birth, for they allowed her the option of raising it.


	2. Part One, Chapter One

_A/N: My apologies to those who read this previously. I uploaded the story in its unedited form, under another account of mine. The story following has been properly edited, and should be a load easier to read. Thank you again for reading, and please enjoy. Any comments/questions, please either PM or review and I am more than happy to reply. _

**Part One**

Chapter One- 4E 174 13th of Rain's Hand

The Day of the Dead

Khell felt the storm in the air long before it was due to arrive. It was of no great consequence or surprise. Rain's Hand often brought storms to Falkreath so great they flooded the White River, and occasionally causing Lake Ilinalta to overflow. Her and her mother were well into High Rock by way of Hammerfell or Markarth come this time of year, stopping in Wayrest or Evermor for the Day of the Dead celebration. But Peryite had seen fit to spread a plague shortly after the planting season had begun, and so her mother was needed in Skyrim more.

The Day of the Dead would be the second holiday she had missed in High Rock. Khell found herself quite cross with the change of circumstances. Usually she would have passed through the edges of the Alik'r Desert, traversed the Dragontail Mountains, and been among her friends in one of the other cities for celebration. In Skyrim, however, the dead were restless. The wary and superstitious Nords held no celebration for them.

But Nord suspicion would not hold her back. Khell dressed herself in black clothing, grabbed her dagger, and left the inn as soon as she awoke. Her mother was already out by that time, most likely at the buildings they had arranged for the ill. Khell bowed her heads in respect as she passed by the great graveyard of Falkreath, skirting around the outlying graves.

Khell made her way into the woods to the west of the small city, slipping through the forest as quietly as possible. Along the journey she cursed to herself for having forgotten her hunting bow in a chest at the Inn. Perhaps she could have caught something for the innkeeper, Vinicia. It could have made their stay more bearable for her mother. Khell was aware that she was stretched thin.

The Day of the Dead was Khell's favorite holiday, and so it demanded recognition. At least part of it was because it had also been her little sister, Aisling's, favorite holiday. Two years gone now, and Khell still ached inside when she thought of the spirited youth. In the reflection of the early day's pale sunlight in a puddle she painted her face in the ceremonial style, which would be popular High Rock. And then she took off through the forest as quick as her feet allowed.

Her feet carried her through the Pine Wood of Falkreath with surprising speed. Khell hoped silently that she might find the shrine to the dead that she had overheard rumor of in town. Coming across the road again, she gave pause. She realized that if guards did happen along, they would at least question her. She was running about in black robes with facepaint. _I'd be lucky if they didn't strike me down thinking I was a necromancer. _An amused smile crossed her mouth. She realized, again, the difference of cultures in the countries that she had lived between.

Straying from directly walking along the roads, Khell climbed a tree a little ways off the path, spotting what she felt must have been her mark. She stole across the roadway while no traffic was present, making her way along a bend in the road.

Her search was in vain, however. As the midmorning hours came and then left, Khell had no luck finding any sort of shrine. The passage of time drew out her exasperation, and the humid air tested her patience. She knew of the markers along the road, she had travelled it extensively enough. So when she moved too far from Falkreath, she resigned to turning back.

_Some sad celebration this is though. I can't even find a proper shrine to honor my sister and father. I suppose the hole of a little temple in Falkreath will have to do. _

Turning her mind to how she might explain her attire to the Priest of Arkay, she crossed the road. She did not bear near as much caution as before. Passing back into the threshold of the forest, her mind was already elsewhere. Khell, to her own great surprise, fell over the edge of a ledge with about as much grace as an Orc trying to ballroom dance.

Sitting up from the fall, she caught her breath as best she could. With some disgust, Khell pulled herself out of a tepid pond. Robes torn and soaked through, she assessed that her spirit for the day had drastically darkened as the hours pushed on. Muttering a string of curses under her breath, Khell stood to face a shrine the likes of which she had never seen.

A stone shrine was etched into the cliffside. To describe the etchings on it would not do it justice. It was a door of death itself. Khell could feel an arcane energy pulsing in a dreadful beat around her. Almost powerful enough to be heard in the mundane realm.

There was a heartbeat of arcane force in the clearing. If she had learned anything from her mother as a Priestess, then the workings of Oblivion were present. No sooner had she seen the door than it had commanded her full attention. She was robbed her of her frustrations with mortal concerns. No, she was a Breton, and she could feel the foreign arcanum to her core.

Standing was mechanical, and she only winced when she put her full weight on her left foot. Khell still approached the slab with an air of reverence, limp or no.

Khell felt a pull inside her looking at the door. She could almost hear her sister laugh at her trepidation. Aisling had been two years younger and much bolder. She would have twirled in front of the door calling out Daedric Princes until one appeared for her and answered her questions. _Perhaps I'm exaggerating_.

But Aisling would not have hesitated nearly so much. She had been afraid of nothing and it had led her to an early grave. So Khell learned from example, bowing to the will of her mother who now protected her fiercely.

Hardening at the ghostly laughter of her sister in the back of her mind, she placed her hand on the skull's forehead. Magicka throbbed through her hand as she touched it, but she was disappointed. Nothing happened that she might have expected from a Shrine of Arkay. No sooner had she slackened her arm from pressing against the stone skull, than a horrible, _wonderful_, haunting voice filled her mind.

'_What is the music of life?'_

Khell would have screamed; the voice was painful in a way she had never experienced before, like nails in the back of her mind. Nothing came to her though, standing there with her hand on the stone. She could not bring herself to speak, uncertain if it was out of fear or arcane paralysis.

Something internal tugged her away from the shock of the pain. Remembering a riddle she had forgotten some time ago, it rushed back to her, ringing through her head in a voice that seemed much akin to panic.

'_Silence.'_

There was no reply. Even as she shakily repeated her answer aloud. Khell moved her hand and found that the world had stilled and quieted around her.

While she did not officially live in the Falkreath hold, Khell had traveled through and around it enough to know the Pine Forest. The forest should never have been so quiet. She realized then that the arcane energy that had been pulsating before was constant now, surrounding her. It filled her with a tension that broke as suddenly as she had come to realize it. The stone door was pushed open.

It did not open through magic. It was opened by a blonde woman. One who seemed just as shocked to see Khell standing a stride away from her as Khell was. Cursing herself, realizing what a fool she must have looked like, she bowed her head, in a rush to get away, "I meant no disrespect!"

The words were out. Embarrassment reached her feet. Khell broke into a full run back to Falkreath.

Khell had slipped out of the inn that morning before anyone else was up. She slowed to a halt just out of view of the city gate, realizing her predicament.

"Sheogorath help me," she whispered under her breath, cursing herself for the thousandth time since leaving that morning. Her errand had been one of child's folly. There was a shrine to Arkay in the city, why had she felt the need to seek out a door of death? Tearing off a half torn sleeve from her black robe, she wiped down her face. She prayed she might look dirty rather than cult-like.

Moving around the guard and off the road, Khell stole into the Dead Man's Drink through the kitchen entrance. Ignoring the odd look from the innkeeper, she slipped into the room her and her mother were sharing. She thanked all the stars that she could name offhand that her mother was not due home for some time. At nineteen years of age, even an elf her age showed more forethought than she had that morning.

Pulling on clean travel clothes, she collapsed on to her bed and curled into a ball. The day's exploits had been disastrous. A total of three hours spent galavanting in the forest. It had only made a mess of things. Khell was the eldest, _the only one left_. She knew to act accordingly. As a priestess, who couldn't even heal properly, did she need to antagonize the fates any further?

Another few hours of regret slipped by. Lunchtime had come and passed at the Dead Man's Drink, when Khell was interrupted by the innkeeper's wife. She handed Khell a slip of paper, bearing instructions from her mother. _I'm staying late again, else the child may not pull through. Bring me supper, I paid her the coin in advanced. We will practice once more. _

Sighing, Khell donned the robes that would mark her as an apprentice healer. Khell waited for the food, and set out for the opposing side of town. A small longhouse had been erected to house the infected.

Divines, they had been in Falkreath too long. The town still bore no love for either her or her mother. The magic that they represented was a necessity in hard times, nothing more. Marching on nevertheless, she ignored the less-than-welcoming stares from the guards outside the Jarl's hall.

Her mother, the healer Isbeil, had healed six of the plague so far. Another half dozen or so were under constant watch to keep them from Arkay's grasp. The Jarl could not be bothered, however, due to the suspicious nature of the two of them. Nevermind their constant work in these parts. Her mother had served as a healer in the cities of Markarth and Falkreath and all areas in between for several years.

Pushing the negativity aside, she forced a small smile for her mother. She did not want to discuss the events of the day.

Opening the door of the ramshackle longhouse, she looked around before she moving inside. A shiver rolled down her back. The overwhelming feeling of eyes on her rendered her with irrational paranoia. Meeting the distrustful eyes of a guard, she brushed the feeling of being watched away. There were ill to tend to.

Her mother greeted her with her usual warmth. It did not reach her eyes, strained as they were with exhaustion and worry. The air in the room was hot, and the fires burned with full force on either end of the room. Two of the city's people, having overcome the illness, were staying on to help as they were immune. The others that had been cured parted with their coin, feeling the debt had been rightfully squared away.

Khell set to work. While she could not cast a spell with much success, she was able to take care of the rest of the retinue of things to be done. After two hours of consistent working, the night wind blew cold through the slats of the longhouse. Her mother dismissed her for the evening. Khell began to argue, but her mother was not one to be argued with. She had pushed her luck enough.

Stepping into the cold late night air, Khell made it five feet before a chill overcame her. Looking about, she was a little surprised to find that there was not a soul in sight. This was quickly pushed from her though, because she was slammed against the stone base of the Jarl's hall. The force cracked something unpleasantly in her chest. Any complaints however, were quickly silenced with a cold blade against her throat.

"You didn't go to the guard. Why? I planned to kill you outside the guardhouse," the voice was held malice, but was still somehow feminine and pleasant. Khell tried not to swallow too hard,the blade felt as though it did not need much invitation. In a hoarse whisper she replied, "Why would I have needed the guard? I went out to pray to the dead. I overstepped myself, obviously."

The woman chuckled darkly, but the blade lost none of its pressure. Khell found no comfort in the laughter.

"What kind of girl makes prayers at a Black Door?"

Khell realized then her mistake. If it had been bright enough, she was certain the assassin would have seen her pale several shades. As it was, she just winced as the blade nicked her throat. "I had no idea it was a door of Sithis! I am a Breton, I just sought to honor my dead in peace from the Nords."

The assassin was close enough to her that she could hear each breath. And so when she turned, Khell felt it in both the movement and the blade. Another feminine voice answered an unspoken question, "She speaks the truth Astrid. The mark of the door is on her still."

The assassin, Astrid, turned back to Khell, lightening the pressure of the knife on her throat by the barest of fractions. Silence spanned between them for a few moments, before Astrid spoke again, a calm certainty in her words. "You've a poison extract in your system that will kill you in roughly two weeks time. In that time you have two choices, you may prove your dedication and join us for a cure. Or you may finish your business in this world and die unpleasantly. Should you attempt to tell the guards of our location, your mother will die as well. Understand?"

The world froze for Khell, turned upside down by her own idiocy earlier that day. _The Dark Brotherhood. She had managed to get caught up in the Dark Brotherhood. _A full minute passed in silence before she managed to croak out, "What do you need me to do?"

The blade relaxed another fraction, "Good girl, a smart choice. You're to go to Riften and kill the woman who runs the orphanage. Bring me her journal. I would hurry though, you may have around two weeks, but travel won't be fun after the first few days. I'd hate for you to leave anything like this to chance."

They were gone as soon as they had come, without so much as a farewell. She didn't have to wonder at where they would be going. Khell moved uncertainly, almost tripping over the body of a guard. She reached down and assured herself that he was still alive. She assumed that they didn't want to draw unnecessary attention with unwarranted deaths.

Khell made haste to the inn, eager to pack her bags. She would try to find a way to explain her need to leave so suddenly to her mother. Saying a few prayers on the way, she found that they felt hollow in the night. Surely though, something would come to her. It had to.


	3. Part One, Chapter Two

**A/N: Please not that the timeline is being changed, so the fic is not **_**technically**_** lore friendly. That being said, I am going to strive to keep as true to events as I can, with the only major changes being in the Dark Brotherhood. You'll see what I mean. But it is just to fit with the plot. I also have always had difficulties with believing the timeframe the Dragonborn was given. That said, please enjoy.**

Chapter Two- 4E 174 15th through the 20th of Rain's Hand

The Loss of Innocence

The ringing pain in her head was nothing compared to the blood. It was dark red, and by the Divines it was _everywhere_. Khell felt her whole body shake, a deep internal tremble, both disgusted and fearful at the sight of it. However, something more was there, something darker. Grabbing the edge of the table to steady herself, she pushed herself to remember where she was, or how she had gotten there. _Who she was. _The dark room seemed to be of Nordic design, and the smoking fire had been extinguished recently. Her senses, while blurred with confusion and near-delirium, were sharp if she focused on the present moment.

And then a wave of recollection hit her.

* * *

The journey to Ivarstead had been a quiet, but miserable one. Khell managed to convince her mother of needing a horse without mentioning her involvement with the Dark Brotherhood. She had pieced together something to do with an old friend. One who was now, fictitiously, in Whiterun and needing urgent assistance. Her mother had found her a horse from a patient, and on the promise it would be returned in good health, they had not charged. She had left later that day, with a breathy goodbye and fear in her stomach. That might have been the poison though.

Ivarstead had been her destination, despite passing through the small walled keep of Helgen. She wanted to avoid people, and felt as though the confines of the walls would keep her from ever leaving. Safe was not how she needed to feel right now. The pressure of the roads and ever-present danger would preserve her need for haste. And so she made it to Ivarstead after riding the horse nearly ragged.

Little happened in the small little hamlet. It rested at the foot of the most impressive mountain Khell had ever laid eyes on. It was here that she heard Nord legends, told by a bard to the handful of children in Ivarstead until late into the evening. Happily she fell into a bed that night, eager to sleep off her weariness from the road. She did not even mind the thought that she might not wake up, for weariness ruled her.

However, Khell was removed from this stupor by a small, shrill scream so early in the morning that the stars still blanketed the sky above Nirn. Exiting her room to see what might be the issue, for she _was_ trained as a healer, she was faced with one of the village children. Khell looked the boy over in the dying light of the room, and found he looked far more than ill. Pale and shaking in the near dead firelight, the child looked at her with eyes glassed over. The innkeeper and her husband made it up from their quarters in the basement by this time. They seemed to know the boy, "Celann, what is it?"

The boy snapped out of his vision at the call of his name, and Khell felt a minor snap of arcane energy in the air. Shaking from whatever nightmare he had just escaped, the boy pointed a finger to the shadowy corner at the back of the room. A tall and thin man stood among the shadows. The air froze over with tension, and the innkeepers husband spoke up, "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to leave. We've only one guest tonight, and we are currently not booking. You can come back in the morning."

There was a low growl of a chuckle, and the figure stepped into the dim light. The innkeeper gasped, "Rokir, that's-"

She did not finish. The man that she seemed to recognized moved faster than Khell had ever seen a man move. By the time she realized what happened, the body of the woman lay on the floor, her husband and the dark character locked in arms. But the towering man had many advantages and was forcing the other to the ground.

Snapping from her stupor, Khell ran for the boy, who was staring at the spectacle much as she had been moments before. Clearly the man was dangerous, and had both strength and magic at his disposal. No sooner had she reached the boy, _Celann_, than she felt magic tug at her mind.

Grabbing the boy, she pushed him toward the door, yelling, "Run, wake the guard!" As she moved to follow him, Khell felt paralysis take hold of her. She had been right, he was a mage and quite capable. Meager training in resistance had done nothing to hold him off. She heard the door close after the boy and ached to see that he had made it out, but the man was over her now, and he had a visage that commanded most of her view. Red eyed, pale, and unkempt, Khell guessed that he was not one for grooming, and she grimaced internally at how the stench of death clung around him.

Heart racing, she wished desperately that she could move, if only to turn away from his horrid face which now played home to a wicked smile. And then she saw the thing that made her freeze down to her core, _fangs_.

* * *

Khell was grateful that she had chosen the table to balance herself, otherwise she would surely have fallen over. She suspected that she had had something akin to fever shakes, her mother had called them seizures once or twice. The memories were vivid, and had hit her quickly, but they did not address how she was here, wherever that might have been. But looking ahead, Khell saw the source of the blood surrounding her.

Normally, she would have been fearful or worried, but those emotions seemed vaguely distant from her now. The source of the blood was the man from the Inn, previously hidden by the very table she was gripping, throat torn open. A strangely out of place smile crossed her lips, and as she made that small movement, she realized that they were wet.

Dabbing at them hesitantly, she found that her first assumption was correct, the substance coating her lips, and most of her, was the blood that was also on the floor and table around her. Licking at her lips, which a distant part of her mind told her was not how she would typically act, she found that knowing the source of the blood helped her stand a little straighter. Glancing about the cavern and its wider area, she found two more bodies, similarly ravaged, lay on the floor a little further away.

She walked over to each of them, taking her time to adjust given her uncertainty about her state of being. Checking them over, she found that they all had fangs protruding from their jaws, four of them. Touching the tips of one of them, she felt the tip prick her finger, but she felt no pain that should have come with the injury. _What has happened to me? _

It took her an hour, at the very least, to get her bearings in the chamber. Red water and damp covered most everything, and she found some sort of fauna that she recalled reading about being native to Black Marsh. Finding a journal, she flipped through it in hopes of finding answers. And find answers she did, though they robbed her of any hope that she had. Venarus had been the name of her attacker, and just as she had feared, he was a vampire, infected and left undead by the _Sanguinare Vampiris_. Which confirmed her ideas of what had happened. It was quite possibly why she had blacked out.

The rugged, and at points bloodstained, journal also detailed the location. It gave her little to navigate the passages on, just addressing it as Redwater Den. He had seemed a man obsessed. His claims to a vampiric fountain of strength were difficult, at best, to believed. The journal also detailed his age, and she had to wonder how it was she had overcome such a man. Tearing out a page which detailed a woman he had met once in Solitude, she left the rest of the journal where she had found it._ My only hope is that this Sybelle woman might have answers for me._

Khell searched for a mirror, making due with a crude silver plate she was able to polish most of the grime off of. She found to some relief that her eyes did not glow, but neither did her heart beat. Uncertain of how she should feel, or if she was even capable of it, she filed away the information and made for an exit. Over the rusty smell of the water, the cold winds of Skyrim blew gently through the cavern. Leaving through the small exit, she spared only a brief glance at the macabre underground waterfall.

* * *

The thin veil of sunlight on the horizon made her skin ache, driving home the change that she had undergone. It also gave rise to the question of how long she had been down there. With no recollection of time, and only a brief scattering of memories at the events, she supposed the transition had been taxing on her mind. _Perhaps that's an understatement_.

She knew from the journal that the cave was a decent distance of Ivarstead and the farms surrounding. However, Khell also knew that her business was in Riften and that she had no horse now. So she turned toward the east and the rising sun, and resolved that she would deal with Ivarstead on the return trip. This business in the Rift would be done, and hopefully she would never return.

If one beneficial thing had arisen from leaving behind a cavern of vampiric bodies in her wake, she no longer felt trepidation at the idea of killing the woman. Best to get it over with and leave it behind her, much as she would this Redwater business. Perhaps her morality would catch back up with her, but she hoped it was on the journey home. She couldn't afford to lose the logical clarity that had overcome her, her mother's life was at stake. And then maybe, just maybe, the Dark Brotherhood could help her. It was not like them to be merciful should she fail. Khell felt the fates at work. She didn't like it, but at the very least she could confront the future with quick wits.


	4. Part One, Chapter Three

**A/N: Thank you for your patience with me! In exchange I offer you a chapter with a much younger Delvin Mallory. The assassin (not quite yet thief) is a main character in this chapter, and may play a part in another chapter of Part One. Let me know what you think, as always! **

Chapter Three- 4E 174 22nd of Rain's Hand

In Confidence

Riften smelled like rotten wood, even from a quarter mile off. Khell tried giving it the benefit of the doubt, thinking that the smell may have possibly carried over the lake. Approaching the city did not do much to reassure, however.

It was overcast on her arrival, and she was silently grateful for the shift in the weather. Travel the day before had been painful and tedious with her skin set alight any time the sun so much as kissed her. And pain meant progress was slower than she had expected or desired.

Setting into the damp hold capital, Khell found herself honestly surprised that the city _was_ a capital. There couldn't have been a terrible drive for business, aside from trade with Cyrodiil. Dismissing the thought Khell focused her attention on controlling herself around _people_. It was a strain to keep her nostrils from flaring; all she wanted was to take in more of the scent. Swallowing, she steeled herself against the impulse to drag aside anyone aside and drink heavily from anyone who stepped too close.

Had she had such violent thoughts before? She couldn't recall. Khell found that trying to think about before was difficult.

She had been complacent before. That didn't seem to set well with her now. It didn't seem as though much had changed at all though. This imperceptible shift in her psyche had been maddening through the night.

Rotten wood and cloudy skies were a more than welcome change to cyclical thinking. But walking into the city where she was supposed to perform her first murder wasn't exactly preferable. Khell moved through the city as an obvious stranger.

Home was the warm hearth of a fire, far off on High Rock's north shore. Identical wooden slat houses did little for her sense of direction. The walls, the houses, the canal; all of it the same. Khell grew less surprised at Riften being a capital, and more so at its residents not being driven mad.

A hard, calloused hand interrupted any further thoughts she might have had. "A little lost, are we?" came a gruff whisper behind her.

Tension and fear roiled through her. Being lost had led her into an alleyway, a lone woman's worst luck. But the hand let go, and she whipped about to find its owner. A young man, stood against the wall, grimy faced and grinning.

"You took your damn time getting 'ere sweetheart. You know Astrid 'ad me mad looking for you to get here last week." A native High Rock accent poured into his words, but they held no anger. A quick look over assured that his eyes didn't either. The fears of a drunkard or worse tapered down. _Hes a Brotherhood contact._

Khell felt rather sheepish, but it wasn't as though luck had been on her side for the trip. Finding her voice, she replied, "Well if I hadn't had the worst run of luck in my damned life, I might have been on time."

The words were harsh, but held true enough. Her brazen outburst didn't seem to upset the man. "I suppose I spoke out of turn. Should've asked about yer trip first? Well, you can tell me about it once we're inside. We've got things to talk about, and its about to rain to boot."

Smelling of damp and rot the way this city did, the clouds must've been the _only_ indication of rain. Chalking it up to life experience, Khell followed after the stranger. Hopefully her trust that the Brotherhood might still want her alive was well placed.

* * *

"How on earth do they live in this damp?" were the first words she managed. Her impromptu guide had let them into an unused house on the edges of the city. The rainclouds had burst open into a storm before they had the door open.

His laugh was empathetic, "Riften has a way of getting into your bones. You may hate the weather, but the people that pass through and settle 'ere are hard to find a likeness of elsewhere. Even in High Rock."

"Really? I've seen my fair share of folk between High Rock and Hammerfell alike. The Nord ways don't allow for much 'different'."

Succeeding in lighting a fire, he stepped back and looked her over with the eyes of an appraiser. Feeling scrutinized, Khell looked him over indifferently. He was strapped to the teeth in leatherworking, obviously a specialist of trade. But he had auburn, mussed hair and kind eyes that made her think of home.

"And is being different something you've had to worry about? I don't even know you by name and you seem like a rather inconspicuous lot," he said finally. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. Something in his demeanor suggested that he wanted to say more.

"Khell, if you must know. And I'll not bore an assassin like yourself with _boring_ tales of the _normal_ healer's daughter then. Just tell me what you have to and then go." The words were sharp, and she wasn't sure where the venom had come from. The late night of rumination might have taken a toll.

"Ah, magic. The Breton's bane in Skyrim. Your mother helps people, just to be spit on." There wasn't a question in the words. They both knew it was the truth. "Well, I'm no wizard, but I can understand a kinsmans plight. I'm Delvin."

The warmth in his smile after several long days without something familiar worked in his favor. Khell smiled, nodding in recognition. "Delvin? Definitely a Breton name. I suppose I can reconsider Riften if I ever visit under more pleasant circumstances. As it stands? This trip I'm allowed to hate it with a passion."

"I s'pose that's all a man can ask," he chuckled. "Astrid said you were new blood, and that you might not turn up at all. But she din' mention that you were… unwilling."

Khell mentally kicked herself, wondering if she might yet ruin this whole thing, "I got myself into this situation. I knew what I had to do before I left for Riften though. I know what's at stake. And besides, the Brotherhood might be the only place left for me."

The house they had huddled away in grew still, and Khell felt him appraise her in the firelight once again. She noticed only now that she had hung to the edges of the warmth. The room was bathed in dust, shadows clinging to the corners. Unused furniture was covered and stacked in the shadows. They had taken refuge in the cold basement, and still she couldn't compel herself closer to the flames.

"So what made your trip here so piss poor luv?" Delvin said, breaking the silence, "We've got a couple of hours 'til nightfall. I'm an excellent judge of how many options someone's got."

He joined her on the edge of the firelight. The room was quick to fill with her tale of 'joining' the Brotherhood. Everything in her knew that it was reckless to divulge so much to a stranger. One who was a known assassin no less. But having nearly died twice in the past week, and being unaccustomed to being alone in such pressure, something in her broke. It was as if there had been a dam of information, and all at once it was out. Stranger or no, Delvin Mallory became her not-entirely-unwilling confidante.

Rinsed out from the storm, the mildew coated air of Riften was cool as evening set. Thunder rolled in the distance over Lake Illianata, but the stars broke out for the evening. Delvin Mallory had proven his worth as a guide in the city. Khell sat across from him at an inn, having abandoned the empty house as evening fell and need for a bigger fire had arisen.

The bunkhouse they nestled in, Delvin informed her, was usually strictly for men to patron. But as a man, and a frequent, Delvin escorted her in as bold as he pleased. At first Khell had been red in the face, or as red as she could get. But that faded as she was handed a drink and then they were left to their business. The only reminder of their circumstance was the glare that the serving girl threw anytime she was called over to help.

Khell knew the sign of Dibella. It was tattooed on every woman in the place. Instead, she just kept her eyes away, and tucked herself into the corner. Delvin smirked, "Well, that confirms some questions I might've had about your romantic potential luv."

Khell looked over the brim of her mug at him. Swallowing, she asked, "And what kind of questions might those have been, Mallory?" The toothy, mischievous grin was all the answer she needed.

It was all part of their plan. Delvin was a known face in these parts, and he needed an alibi for the evening. If it helped the rest of the town explain away the strange girl, so be it. So Khell drank a little more alcohol than she usually would've, finding the taste fell flat. It curbed her mind away from the constant thought of blood though. The day had led her to find Delvin quite reliable, if nothing else.

"You know, if we're supposed to be going off to bed _together_, you might want to try a little more," she murmured into his ear. Internally, she was shaking. It was quite possible that it was external as well. But they had shared each others stories earlier that day. If she was going to pick a man to trust in the rough spot she was in, Delvin would have to be that man.

There was a small, quickly squashed, flicker of satisfaction in her when his eyes flashed with surprise. Being forward seemed to be the only way that they were going to move along. She was entirely unprepared for him to pull her onto his lap, however. Their coordination was off, and Khell found herself the closest she'd been to a man in months.

The drink buzzing through her head took off some of the shock, turning it instead to laughter that bubbled out of her. Had she been so upset earlier that day? Khell couldn't recall why. But when Delvin laughed with her, she found that she was earnestly glad to have met him.

The bard had started his song again, and their laughter became part of the din of activity. But the enjoyment of the evening was infectious, and Khell met Delvin's eyes. The two of them had plotted a murder together, was feigning attraction much more difficult? His lips on hers made it clear that the answer was yes. Hazy thoughts pulled at her mind, but they wound up being dismissed as his arm coiled around her waist.

Time became abstract with so much drink and adrenaline pouring through her system. Vaguely she was aware that he waved over a barmaid to ready him a room. Khell found that between well placed joking with the other men, Delvin kissing her so longingly, and the vampiric cravings, concentration was a skill that fled under pressure.

They went upstairs, or rather he carried her up the stairs and set her gingerly on the bed. Khell was innocent enough, but the sharpened smell in this room made it clear that it was a brothel. As the door shut, she stood up. Delvin ran a hand through his hair, chuckling and out of breath. The amusement was split between them, but they could not look at each other the same way. Their emotions seemed equally divided.

"You've got about another twenty minutes before the late night shift change," he said from across the room, his voice a husky murmur. "Probably best for you to leave soon."

She couldn't tell if there was some disappointment in his tone. "How long have you got the room for? I'm not sure with places like these…"

"I've rented it out for the night, don't worry, you'll have plenty of time."

Khell nodded, "I'll be in and out. Stick to the plan. I… really I can't than-"

He cut off her thank you with another kiss, this one confirming that there was more than a cover story behind his intentions. He brushed a hair behind her ear, "Just don't get caught. I'm not sure I could stand to see someone as green as you get thrown in prison."

Blinking off the surprise, with a grin she squared her shoulders in defiance, "I'm new to this whole 'of the night' bit, but that doesn't mean you get to mock me. I'd watch out. I bite."

He laughed at that, "As much as I'd like to say I'd like it, I'm not too certain I would."

Khell kissed Delvin on the cheek, hoping she'd be back before dawn. He'd listened to her ramble, explained to her what had happened in the woods in Falkreath, and made her laugh after the worst week of her life. Even when she told him about her being bitten, he explained that the Brotherhood was host to all dark sorts, and that Khell was the first vampire he'd spoken with. He did seem a bit worried when she explained how terribly peckish she had been, but she reassured him that she could wait until that evening.

And so, as the second floor window shut behind her, a sense of finality grew for the evening. The torches had been quelled with the storm, and so the city spread out in an unusual darkness. The guardsmen were easy enough to spot from the torchlight, but most of the city was still.

Khell dipped down to the edge of the roof, grabbed the ledging and let herself fall into the rubbish pile outside the kitchen door. Standing, and assuring herself that no one had been witness, she then took out the black cloth hood that Delvin had gifted to her. Khell ran, knowing the route that they had rehearsed, and made her way about the outskirts of the city.

The orphanage itself was a cast off from the main city, set in the outer wall and hidden away from proper view of any sort. She had to walk through the canalway to make it past the keep without drawing attention. Another storm sounded off in the distance, making it hard to hear the guards call to change out. Timing was everything.

As the guards dispersed into the back of the keep, Khell moved as fast as she could will herself toward the side window of the orphanage. Pulling herself in, surprised that she could see so well in near perfect darkness, Khell saw the old woman asleep. Grelod the Kind, her mark. On a brief visit to the establishment earlier in the day, any guilt for the woman's sake had fled her entirely. But to _kill_ someone… Khell was uncertain that it was something she was capable of. But between the woman in front of her, or her mother? That was a choice she could make.

It was all surprisingly easy. A bite on the wrist, enough blood to make it look purposeful on the ground. The rest was a drink for her to fill on. It didn't even seem all that real until the pulse went away, for the woman didn't even wake up to struggle. Khell pulled out a knife when she was done with it all, and connected the two dots her teeth had made.

Leaving the dagger in the old woman's hand, Khell tightened her gloved hands. It took conscious effort not to get emotional now. Her flight across the city was one that she did not pay as much mind on. It was so early in the morning that dawn was not yet an idea. Even the guards on duty were half asleep.

Khell saw Delvin in the window, and nodded at him that the deed was done. The wooden beam making up the siding of the bunkhouse was slick with rain water still, but Khell managed. As she was almost on the roof, she was hoisted up the rest of the way with a calloused hand. Delvin and her climbed back in the window to their room after a brief look to make sure no guards were peeking.

He laughed, and pulled himself up, relief apparent on his face, "Y'know, I don't recall being worried like that for anyone other than myself before."

Khell brushed herself off, snatching the hood off of her head, "You mean this assassin business means being self-serving? I haven't quite reached that point yet. How d'you like it?"

It hadn't come out as humorously as she had hoped. Her saving grace was that it wasn't the voice of a crying or grief ridden woman either. His expression softened, "Now luv, you don't know me from any of the others in this lot you've done messed with. But it's rare I meet anyone who knows what I am that isn't dead by now, let alone a pretty lass like you. And seeing' the likes of you march off on the path of no return was a right shame. I'd hate to have to break you out of jail, it's an awful amount of work."

Khell felt something inside her warm back up at his words. Something about her had compelled an assassin to care. Granted, he was the least assassin natured man she had ever come across, but she supposed that was the point. Looking at him, half sitting on the floor, she let herself forget what had just happened and smile at him.

The patter of newly starting rain started up on the roof, and Khell let herself be helped up by him. She fell into his arms, and then together onto the bed. It was the only safe place that she could think of for herself on this side of Skyrim.


End file.
